


Being Where?

by MrProphet



Category: Being Human (UK), Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	Being Where?

“I just don’t like crowds,” George protested. “I never did; even before I became a… Before I got my  _condition_.”

“And what difference does it make?” Mitchell insisted. “We’re slap in the middle of the month, so you don’t have any residual effects; no itchy temper, no heightened senses. It’s the perfect time for an away day. Look; Annie doesn’t mind.”

“Annie’s agoraphobic; of course she doesn’t mind crowded tube stations,” George pointed out.

Mitchell shrugged. “Alright. You don’t want crowds, come with me. Annie! George doesn’t like the crowds, so we’re taking a different route.”

Annie slipped through the crowd to their side. George was sure that she actually passed clean through several people, but somehow it was never possible to actually see it happen. “Okay with me,” she told them. “I never felt more alone than in a crowd, even when they weren’t walking through me as well as over me.”

“God, listen to the two of you,” Mitchell insisted. “You’re the ones who are so into this ‘being human’ thing; well, crowds are human. Still, as you both insist.” As he spoke, he stepped off the platform and dropped into the space between the rails. No-one around them gave a second glance.

“ _What_  are you doing?” George demanded.

“Come on, George!” Mitchell called. “No-one will notice; just be careful of the electric rail.” He patted one of the rails and his hair stood on end. “That’s this one; not recommended for those with heartbeats and largely electrical-based nervous systems.”

“Mitchell!”

“Come on, George! People are staring at the crazy man who’s shouting at the track. What about you Annie?”

Annie shrugged and stepped down. Angry with himself for going along with them, George followed. None of their fellow passengers batted an eyelid.

“Now what?” George demanded.

“Now we find a guide,” Mitchell replied. He bent down and looked under the rails. “Ah-ha! Hello there, friend! Can you show us the way on down please?”

“Mitchell,” George said with a soft giggle. “You’re talking to a  _mouse_.”

“Oh! See, now you’ve hurt his feelings. He won’t show us the way down unless you both ask.”

“What?”

“And you might want to hurry up. There’s a train coming.”

“What do I say?” Annie asked immediately.

“Annie!”

“Just ask nicely,” Mitchell explained.

“Do we have to bow?” George wondered.

“Don’t be ridiculous; he’s not a rat.”

George stared incredulously. “Oh, of course.  _I’m_  being ridiculous.

“And just a little gauche, if you don’t mind me saying,” Mitchell agreed.

Annie bent down. “Please, Mr Mouse, can you show us the way down?”

The mouse squeaked.

“Is that a yes?” George asked.

“He says if you ask him  _very_  nicely,” Annie replied. “And… he does want you to bow.”

Mitchell shook his head. “See? Hurt his feelings. That is so like you George.”

“Mitchell, there is a train coming!”

“Then you’d better ask quickly then,” Mitchell replied, with real urgency.

“Mitchell…”

“George! I do not want to end my long and unnaturally pretty life in a rail tunnel because you have no consideration for the feelings of others!”

George sighed and bowed low. “Please, Mr Mouse, will you show us the way down?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” the mouse squeaked. “Follow me, and be quick.”

“What?” George exploded. “Did that mouse….”

“Just follow!”

As the train rattled into the station they followed the tiny mouse along the concrete trench. Lights flickered between the wheels and the noise was thunderous in their ears, and then suddenly there was quiet and the roar of the train seemed far away. A moment later, a new noise crashed in; a back-and-forth of shouts and cries.

George stood up slowly. They were on the edge of a dark expanse of open lawn. As far as the eye could see there were stalls and wagons and merchants advertising their wares with a constant cacophony of bellows.

“What is this?” George demanded.

“The alternative to humanity,” Mitchell replied. “Welcome to Covent Garden Market… in London Below.”


End file.
